


Freestyle

by MagicaDraconia16



Series: Equestrianism [2]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe - Non-Magical, Horses, M/M, Secret Snarry Swap 2020
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-21
Updated: 2020-12-21
Packaged: 2021-03-11 04:15:39
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,521
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28128987
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MagicaDraconia16/pseuds/MagicaDraconia16
Summary: Even if he isn’t actually competing this time, Harry Potter is still looking forward to attending these Olympics. And presumably so is Severus Snape. Even if he never actually says so.
Relationships: Harry Potter/Severus Snape
Series: Equestrianism [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2084097
Comments: 7
Kudos: 43
Collections: Secret Snarry Swap20





	Freestyle

**Author's Note:**

> This can be read as a stand-alone but it’s also a sequel, which I’d been wanting to write for ages, so if things seem familiar, don’t panic, they aren’t stolen ;) Additional notes at the end.
> 
> No. 45 from **prayer_at_night** : Sports AU - It's Severus' last chance to win an Olympic medal, four years later he'll be too old, and with his refined technique he feels these Olympics will be his. But up-and-coming Harry Potter, who wins his competitions with pure raw talent and zero technique or plan, is his biggest rival for the top.

The yard was in absolute chaos, a beehive of buzzing activity centred around the two large vans standing in the middle of it. 

“Mr Potter, you are late!” 

The stern voice made Harry cringe. “I’m so sorry, Mrs McGonagall,” he apologised. “I got held up by traffic.” 

“Hmm. I suppose that couldn’t be helped,” the elderly woman said, giving him a gimlet stare. “But perhaps you should plan with that in mind, next time.” 

“I will, I promise.” Harry gave her a hopeful smile, and she huffed at him, waving him on. 

Darting his way through the crowds of people, horses and equipment, Harry made his way over to the stall where his own mount was kept. The blood-bay was only three years old, and was banging impatiently at his stall door with a foreleg, hyped up by the excitement in the air. 

“All right, all right, I’m coming,” he said, reaching out to stroke Firebolt’s nose. He barely managed to snatch his fingers back intact, as the horse took a wild nip at him. “Oi!” he complained. 

For a moment, Harry fiercely missed his previous ride. Golden Snidget had been owned by Mrs McGonagall and her friend, but when Mrs Figg had died two years ago, Mrs McGonagall hadn’t been able to afford the upkeep on her own, and so Snitch had been sold. Firebolt belonged to an old student of Mrs McGonagall, but Harry had only ever met Oliver Wood once. A famous footballer, the man had careened wildly between apathy and hyperactivity, leaving Harry mentally exhausted trying to keep up with him. 

“Honestly, Potter, haven’t you learnt to tell the time yet?” a voice behind Harry asked. “We are on a rather tight schedule.” 

Harry rolled his eyes. “Well, I’m here now,” he said. “Just give me ten minutes to wrap Firebolt’s legs, then I can load him.” Firebolt struck out at the stall door again, giving a piercing whinny, and Harry gave him a dubious look. “Hmm, maybe twenty minutes,” he amended. “If Firebolt doesn’t kick me in the head.” 

“Probably knock some sense into you,” the voice muttered, and Harry turned to scowl at the resident ‘bat’ of the stables. Severus Snape did not much like anyone, and made no bones about it. It took prolonged exposure to him to determine when his remarks were seriously aggressive and when they were merely neutral antagonism, but most people didn’t stick around long enough for that. 

Harry, however, had been building towards something with him for the last four years. He wasn’t certain what that something would end up being yet, but it allowed most of Severus’ remarks to just roll right off his back. 

“I suppose DE and Blackie are all ready to go?” he suggested, giving a pointed glance around the yard. Severus’ two horses, both owned outright by him, were nowhere to be seen. 

Severus folded his arms and smirked at Harry. “Blackie is already loaded,” he informed the younger man. “As is Weasley’s ridiculous pony. DE, as you well know, will be the last to be loaded, once everyone _else_ is ready.” 

Harry rolled his eyes again but had to bite back a smile as he turned back to his impatient horse. Ron Weasley was his best friend so he really should be defending poor Pigwidgeon… but the mousy grey horse only barely reached the height requirement to be _called_ a horse, and considering that Ron was over six feet tall, then it _was_ a comical sight. 

“Well, it looks as though Neville is having some trouble, so I’ve got a bit of time yet,” he informed Severus. He placed a hand on Firebolt’s muzzle and pushed, trying to get the youngster to step back from the door. He was fairly certain that as it was, if he opened the door now, Firebolt was just going to barge through it and hightail it off into the distance. 

Technically, Firebolt didn’t _need_ to be loaded up. The vans were headed off to the Olympics, and Firebolt was too young. He’d only started being entered into events a few months previously, and had nowhere near the experience, nor the points, to reach the absolute top. 

However, Mrs McGonagall – who had taken over management, and ownership, of the stables after the previous owner, Albus Dumbledore, had unexpectedly passed away one night in his sleep – had decided that it would be good for the young horse to go, to get him used to the noise and the crowds. 

“Oh, for goodness sake!” Severus snapped, and his arm abruptly shot past Harry to shove harshly at Firebolt’s chest. Startled, the three-year-old actually backed up, and Harry unbolted the door and slid inside while he had the chance. “He needs more training,” Severus observed, running a critical eye over him. 

“Give him a chance,” Harry protested, grabbing hold of Firebolt’s left foreleg and hauling it up to rest between his knees. This wasn’t the usual way of bandaging a horse’s legs for protection but, with the way Firebolt was jumping around, it was safer for the both of them. “He was only gelded last month; he still thinks he’s a stallion.” 

Severus gave a snort of disgust, and Firebolt’s ears pricked towards him in interest. “He should at least have the courtesy of standing still,” he insisted. “DE managed it when he was just two.” 

“Of course he did,” Harry muttered towards Firebolt’s hoof. 

“What was that?” Severus asked, sharply. 

“Nothing.” Harry taped up the end of the bandage and dropped Firebolt’s foreleg, moving swiftly to haul up the gelding’s back leg on the same side before he realised that his front one was free again. 

From outside the box, there was a clatter of hooves, and Severus’ shadow momentarily disappeared. “Longbottom’s finally got his mare loaded up,” the man reported when he reappeared. He sniffed in disdain. “Another one that needs more training.” 

Harry shook his head and let go of Firebolt’s hind leg. “She just doesn’t like the trailer, that’s all,” he said, ducking underneath the bay’s neck to reach the other side. “She’ll be fine once they’re off. And besides, if anyone needs more training around here, then it’s Arnold.” 

“That implies that he had any to begin with,” Severus pointed out. 

He wasn’t wrong. Arnold – who’s proper name was actually Pygmy Puff – was an extremely high-strung Arab stallion that Ginny Weasley, Ron’s little sister, had forced her parents to buy for her instead of the schoolmaster horse that had been recommended. Ginny had barely trained it at all, and it had become so out of control that just before the previous Olympics Albus Dumbledore had threatened to throw it – and Ginny – out of his stables if she didn’t start training him. 

With all the fuss around the Olympics, Ginny had slid under the radar and done nothing. And then she had lost interest in equestrian sports and had stopped coming altogether. Mrs McGonagall was at the end of her tether but, with Ginny refusing all contact, then she could do nothing. So Arnold remained, and grew more feral every day, as one by one the stable hands stopped being willing to work with him. 

“There.” Harry secured the last wrapping and dropped Firebolt’s leg to the floor. He ducked back under the gelding’s neck to reach the door and stretched over it for the headcollar and lead that he’d hung on the hook next to it. 

Firebolt did not want to put his head down for Harry to get the headcollar on him. “Oh, come on,” he grumbled at the horse. He didn’t want to offer a treat as a bribe because that could lead to all sorts of trouble if the horse came to expect them. 

“I’d advise you to leave the headcollar on him once we get to the stadium,” Severus said, frowning at Firebolt. “At least until he learns some manners.” 

“I’d planned to,” agreed Harry. He lowered the headcollar, whereupon Firebolt immediately decided it could possibly be food, and lowered his head to sniff at it. Harry attempted to slide it on whilst he was at least in the vicinity of it, but Firebolt was having none of it; he jerked his head up again with a playful snort. “Bloody hell,” Harry sighed, and gave a quick look out of the box into the yard. 

Hermione was in the process of leading her mare Crookshanks up the ramp into the horse van. Harry had to get a move on, as Firebolt would be the first horse into the second van, and there were still three other horses to be loaded after him, including Severus’ Death Eater, who was going last for a _reason_. 

“Oh, for the love of— Give me that,” said Severus, impatiently, and he somehow managed to slide into the box and snatch the headcollar out of Harry’s hands all in one movement. 

Firebolt lowered his head the barest millimetre to examine this new person, but Severus was taller than Harry, and so he was able to put a hand on the gelding’s muzzle and force his head down low enough to pop the headcollar on. Within two minutes, he’d succeeded in a task that likely would have taken Harry another half an hour. 

“Thanks,” he said grudgingly. “But I could have managed.” 

“Would you have managed it before the vans were due to leave?” Severus asked, raising an eyebrow at him. 

Harry scowled at his back as he went to open the box door but remained silent. No, in all honesty, he wouldn’t have. Firebolt was still too full of himself, still under the impression that he was a stallion. He was also still too new to _Harry_ , so there hadn’t been enough time for Harry to learn all the tricks to manage him. 

Which was amply proved when Severus opened the box and Firebolt immediately, well, _bolted_ out of it. Harry grunted as he was jerked along with the horse. He planted his feet and pulled back on the lead rope. Firebolt danced round on the other end of it like a kite in a storm. 

“Honestly, is he part Arab and Oliver forgot to mention it?” Harry complained, reeling in the rope. Firebolt whinnied excitedly, and various equine voices answered him. Finally getting the gelding close enough, Harry yanked firmly downwards on the rope, pulling the horse’s head down so that he could take hold of the headcollar itself. “Settle down, now,” he said, firmly, placing his other hand over Firebolt’s nose. 

He could feel huge, gulping breaths from the nostrils under his hand but, aside from one attempt at tossing his head up again, the bay finally settled to merely shifting his weight in place. 

“Okay, Mr Potter, load him in,” Mrs McGonagall called, turning away from where the first horsebox was fastening the rear door shut. “Quick as you can.” 

Wondering just how quick that was likely to be, Harry dropped his hand from Firebolt’s muzzle and turned the horse’s head so he could see the lorry he was about to enter. As far as they knew, Firebolt had only ever been loaded onto a van twice before in his life; once when Oliver Wood had originally bought him, and once when he’d been transferred to the stables here. They had no idea how well he’d loaded either time, so this would be a new experience for them all. 

But it seemed that the gelding had gotten everything out of his system already, as he calmly walked up the ramp into the depths of the horsebox and submitted to being manoeuvred sideways before the partition was put up. Surprised but pleased, Harry spent a few minutes patting him before he ducked out of the van so that the next horse could be loaded. 

He headed towards the tack room to collect Firebolt’s gear and found his friends doing the same. “Wotcha, mate!” Ron greeted him. “Got the Bolt sorted then?” 

“Went on as calm as you please,” Harry informed them. “Didn’t think he would, the way he came out of his stall, but—” He shrugged. “—there you have it.” 

“Oh, that’s good.” Hermione straightened up from where she usually kept Crookshanks’ tack in the corner. “Ron, here’s Pig’s breast strap. Why on earth did you put it with Crook’s stuff?” 

Ron raised his eyebrows but took the strap from his wife, examining it closely. “I thought I put it back with Pig’s stuff,” he said. “Maybe someone else moved it.” 

Harry hefted Firebolt’s saddle into his arms and slung the bridle over his shoulder. “At least you have it,” he pointed out. 

“Yes,” Hermione agreed, and leant over again to check that the rest of Crookshanks’ tack was all present and correct. Harry left her and Ron to it. 

Outside in the yard, the team trainer, Filius Flitwick, was just exiting the horsebox, and Severus was exiting the area of the stables known as the ‘dungeons’, where he kept his two horses stabled away from the ruckus of the rest of the yard. He was leading Death Eater, his big, black stallion. Death Eater was not fond of people, nor most other horses, so it had been agreed that DE, as he was known, would be loaded at the absolute last minute, with an empty partition between him and the other horses, and allowing him to be the first off-loaded at the other end. 

The last time they’d tried it any other way, DE had done his best to kick the box to pieces. Severus had said it was just because he got bored waiting for all the other horses to be loaded, but the consensus among everyone else was that DE was just that destructive. 

Harry slipped into the front of the horsebox to secure his tack whilst Severus walked DE up the ramp into the box. He could hear the large black horse snorting, and could well imagine the look of disdain he was giving to everything. 

“Are we all set, then?” Mrs McGonagall asked as both Harry and Severus exited the horsebox, and Ron and Hermione arrived from the tack room to place their tack in the other box. All of them nodded agreement. “Very well. You can leave, then,” she said to the driver of the first box. He grunted agreement, touched two fingers to his temple in salute, and started off for their long journey.

* * *

The Olympic Stadium was equally as busy, if not more so, than their own yard had been. Vans, cars and coaches inched carefully through crowds of people, horses and dogs that were both bustling importantly to wherever they were going and meandering to take in the view. 

“I’ll be glad when we can get off this bloody bus,” Ron complained, resting his arms on the top of Harry’s headrest. “I can’t feel my leg anymore.” 

“I hope Crookshanks is alright,” Hermione fretted, craning her neck around the seat in front to peer out of the coach’s front window, hoping to spot their horse vans. “I _told_ the driver to be extra careful going around corners. What if Crook lost her footing and fell over?” 

Harry rolled his eyes. To most everyone’s dismay, Hermione’s mare had turned up pregnant three months previously. None of them were sure of who the sire was, as Hermione had kept her mare separate from the other horses when it became obvious she was going into season. And now Hermione was fretting over every little thing, terrified that Crookshanks was going to miscarry the foal. Mrs McGonagall and the yard’s vet, Remus Lupin, had convinced her that there wouldn’t be a problem for Crookshanks to compete here when she wasn’t even at the halfway point yet, but Harry wasn’t certain that would last for much longer. 

“I’m sure Crookshanks will be fine,” he said placatingly to Hermione. “After all, Severus was with them. They wouldn’t have dared to be any less than careful with _him_ watching them.” 

Hermione made some sort of noise that was probably supposed to be agreeable but continued wringing her hands anyway. Ron and Harry gave each other exasperated looks. He did _not_ envy his friend, rooming with Hermione for the next couple of weeks. 

Their minibus finally crawled to a halt in front of the cabin that had been set up for their team. They were at the end of a row of identical cabins; the path continued on for about a hundred yards and then widened out into the courtyard where the temporary stabling had been set up. There were a multitude of vans of different sizes already parked there, as horses were led here, there and everywhere. Several children darted in amongst all the legs, equine and human, and a whole host of dogs did the same. 

This wasn’t a new scene to Harry – he’d participated in the last Olympics four years ago, after all – but he still felt his heart skip a beat in excitement as he peered at the hustle and bustle. 

Unsurprisingly, Hermione was the first one off the minibus, barging past everyone else and almost falling down the steps in her haste. She disappeared into the stable yard. 

“Blimey,” Ron sighed as he stood up. “I can see rooming with her’s going to be fun!” 

“Maybe if she runs into Severus, he’ll calm her down,” Harry suggested. 

Ron snorted. “She’s going to run _over_ Snape, you just watch,” he said. Harry followed him off the bus and to where the driver was unloading all of their luggage. 

Mrs McGonagall was standing in the doorway of the cabin, directing them all to their rooms. Eventually, the only things left were Severus’. After some debate, Harry assisted Filius Flitwick in moving the luggage to just inside the cabin. No doubt Severus wouldn’t appreciate the help, but they couldn’t in good conscience leave it outside, and the bus had to relocate to the allocated parking; it couldn’t stay there for however long it took for Severus to get DE settled in. 

Once that was sorted, Harry went to unpack his own luggage. His room was small but cosy, with a bed, a wardrobe and a washstand in it. The window, which was larger than Harry would have expected, was on the side of the building and looked out over the temporary stable yard. Harry was pleased about that. With the window open, he’d be able to hear the movement of all the horses. 

At least this time, he reflected, he didn’t need to worry so much about the condition of his riding clothes. Last time had been a nightmare, ensuring that everything arrived with as few creases as possible – although it seemed rather a wasted effort for the cross country stuff, considering all the dirt flung up by the horse’s hooves, especially after most of the other horses had gone and churned the ground up. _This_ time, Harry wasn’t on show, so he didn’t need to worry about getting his jackets and ties ironed and pressed. 

“Mr Potter?” Mrs McGonagall’s voice preceded a brisk knock on his door. “If you’re quite ready, we’re going to see to the horses.” 

Harry opened the door and smiled at the older woman. “All done,” he informed her. “Has Severus been in yet?” 

“No, he hasn’t.” Mrs McGonagall gestured with her head at the pile of luggage still stacked beside the cabin’s front door. “Presumably he’ll come back here when the rest of us do, once the horses are sorted.” 

“And hopefully,” Ron added, exiting his room, “Hermione will come with us, as well. I suspect she’d be quite happy to bed down with Crookshanks!” 

Harry coughed, trying to stifle a laugh at this, and saw Mrs McGonagall’s lips twitch, too. 

The stable yard was still chaotically busy when they walked into it, but it was more horses and people than vans by now. Harry suspected, though, that there were still quite a few more teams to arrive yet; the Olympics didn’t start for at least three more days yet, and the equestrian events for another two days after that. 

“Our lot is over here,” Mrs McGonagall said, consulting a piece of paper in her hand and then squinting at the sign on the nearest stable block wall. Now that Harry was in it, he could see it wasn’t all one long continuous row of stables, as he’d thought it had been. Instead, the row on the left was broken up by full doors, which meant they had to be tack rooms and feed rooms. 

The right-hand side was broken up by archways, and when Mrs McGonagall led them through one, they discovered it led to a second yard area. Archways on the right-hand side here led out towards the pastures. 

Severus was just exiting a stable in the corner nearest to them and he barely glanced at them as the group came to a halt nearby. Hermione, Harry noticed, was nowhere to be seen. 

“All arrived and settled in?” Mrs McGonagall asked, casting a quick glance around at the boxes that were obviously theirs. 

“Obviously,” Severus drawled. 

“And… where’s Hermione?” asked Ron, peering round himself. 

Severus sighed, in a very put-upon manner. “I am not here to keep track of your wife’s comings and goings,” he said. Ron immediately began to turn bright red and straightened up indignantly. “But, if I were to hazard a guess,” Severus continued, “she would be in that box there, pandering to her horse as though she were the first mare to ever have a foal.” He gestured at a stable that was on the very edge of their allotment. 

Ron wavered in place, obviously unsure as to whether he should defend Hermione’s honour or go to find her. Severus scowled at him, but Harry rather thought it was the appearance of the large black head over the stall door behind Severus that convinced Ron that discretion was better in this instance. DE already had his ears pinned back, clearly unhappy about being in a strange place, and woe betide anybody _else_ who dared to be unhappy in his presence. 

Ducking his head to avoid Ron seeing him smirk as the redhead stormed off, Harry glanced around to discover where Firebolt had been placed. His eyes found the bright copper coat just as a loud, enthusiastic whinny rang out through the air, and Firebolt banged on his door several times. Apparently the journey hadn’t taken anything out of him, Harry thought ruefully. 

Crossing the yard to his horse, Harry held out a hand, aiming to rest it on Firebolt’s muzzle. It seemed, though, as if the gelding wanted to play, as he bobbed his head several times against Harry’s hand, whickering constantly. Harry couldn’t help but laugh at him. 

He glanced around the yard, wondering where their tack and kits had been placed. Hopefully a quick brush down would help Firebolt settle for the night. “I’ll be right back,” he told the bay. 

Severus was pinning up a mesh cover over the top half of Blackie’s stable door. Harry paused beside him and spotted a sign on the mesh. ‘Warning: no treats – this horse bites!’ it said in large letters. And underneath that, in a smaller font, it continued, ‘If you disregard this and get bitten, don’t come crying to me. You are not exempt just because you cannot read.’ 

Harry coughed out a laugh. “Severus, you can’t put that up,” he said, grinning. “Mrs McGonagall will make you take it down again.” 

“I will not be held responsible for the injuries of foolish people who disregard perfectly good warnings,” said Severus, haughtily. He fastened the last corner of the mesh and stepped back. “This way, I don’t have to shut Blackie in.” 

Harry conceded the point. It wouldn’t be good for the horse if he had to be closed up inside his stable all day. “D’you know where our kits and stuff went?” he asked. 

“In the tack room. Where else would they be?” asked Severus, rolling his eyes. 

Harry rolled his own in return. “Yes, okay, but where _is_ the tack room?” he clarified. 

Severus heaved a sigh. “Through there,” he said, finally, pointing back through the archway they’d come in by. “Honestly, Potter, you need to start paying more attention than that.” 

“I did!” Harry protested, indignantly. “I just— Oh, never mind,” he finished with a sigh. Arguing with Severus usually gained him nothing but a headache; he’d finally learnt to just quit while he was ahead. Shaking his head, he retreated back across the yard and through the arch. 

Thankfully, the tack room door was still open, so Harry didn’t have to go wandering down the row to find it. The British team’s equipment was over in the far corner, not quite all thrown down together but obviously placed there with more haste for getting the job done than care for ensuring everyone’s tack was all together. 

Harry spent longer than he’d planned in there, shuffling through the piles of tack and making sure nobody had ended up with somebody else’s girth or bridle. He briefly considered putting those sets he was sure of up onto the racks provided and leaving the rest until its owner sorted it but thought that was rather unfair to the others. 

Once he had things as organised as he could make them, Harry picked up his grooming kit and turned to exit the room. He almost ran headfirst into an older man with long, white-blond hair and grey eyes that were currently narrowed in disdain. 

“Whoops! Sorry, didn’t hear you come in,” Harry apologised, skipping hastily backwards and almost stumbling over a saddle from another team that had also been left on the floor. He caught himself with a hand on the wall and gave the other man a sheepish smile. 

“Hmm.” The man glared at Harry for a moment, and then turned briskly aside to pick up an elegant saddle that Harry had noticed and been somewhat envious of. It was well-made, and obviously incredibly expensive. The man hefted it into his arms – arm, Harry realised, as he finally noticed that the man was carrying a long black cane in one hand – and turned to leave without any further acknowledgement. 

Harry raised his eyebrows. _Well, I hope I don’t run into_ him _too often!_ he thought. 

He returned to Firebolt’s stall to discover the gelding making friends with the horse next door. Both had their necks stretched out over the doors so they could sniff at each other. Harry was surprised to realise he didn’t recognise the other horse. This particular venue didn’t run to separate stable areas as some Olympic venues did, but he’d thought there was at least an empty stall or two between teams. 

Shrugging – maybe a team had brought an extra horse or two for training, like Firebolt – Harry entered Firebolt’s stable, being careful not to pinch the horse’s neck in the door when it opened. 

The horse gave him a quick glance and then returned to his new friend. Harry was perfectly fine with that; Firebolt had a habit of trying to ‘groom’ anyone in return, except his version was taking hold of the body brush firmly in his teeth and waving his head around in the air. 

But with the gelding distracted, he was able to begin brushing. Firebolt had apparently been testing the comfort of his stable already, as one entire side of his back was coated in the sawdust that was used as a bedding. Harry smirked to himself. Seemed the horse wasn’t so excited that he didn’t ensure his own comfort first. 

Firebolt’s hide rippled as Harry apparently brushed too firmly over a ticklish spot, and he swished his tail in protest, almost hitting Harry in the face with it. He curved his neck round to look at Harry, and if a horse could glare, this one was. 

“Sorry,” Harry murmured, gentling his stroke. Firebolt stamped a back hoof and turned away again, giving a rolling snort that was no doubt informing his neighbour of the terrible service he was receiving. 

Brushing the other side was a lot quicker. Once he was done, Harry leant against Firebolt’s shoulder, arm draped over the horse’s withers, looking out of the stable at the hive of activity that was still going on, as riders settled their horses in and bedded them down for the night. A high-powered lamp had come on at the other end of the yard, but it was still too light for it to be needed. 

Firebolt, realising that Harry was done with his grooming, swung his head around and lipped at Harry’s jacket, searching for the treats he was sure were there somewhere and that he very much deserved. 

“Sorry, Bolt, got nothing for you at the moment,” Harry informed him. Firebolt nibbled a few more times, then sighed gustily as he came to this realisation himself. He finally seemed to be calming down, which would hopefully mean he wasn’t going to keep half the yard awake all night by banging at his door. 

Spotting Severus exiting DE’s large corner box, Harry hastily ducked to scoop up the grooming kit and slid out of Firebolt’s stall, vaguely thankful that he didn’t have to fight with the gelding to get the door closed. Instead, the bay was turning to examine his food and water buckets in the corner, thoughts turning to food rather than new friends in new places. 

“DE settled in okay?” Harry asked as he fell into step beside Severus. He couldn’t _see_ any obvious bite marks, and Severus wasn’t limping, but it was never wise to underestimate DE. 

“He’s… content,” Severus confirmed. “It seems yours finally settled as well.” He arched an eyebrow sideways at Harry. 

Harry snorted in amusement. “Yeah. He seems to have made a new friend, too,” he said. “Horse in the box next to ours. No idea who it belongs to.” He glanced around the yard as they reached the entrance. “Speaking of making friends, met any of the other riders yet?” he asked. 

“No. Why would I want to?” asked Severus. “I’m here to ride DE and hopefully win, not to make _friends_.” He almost spat the last word, as though it was the foulest thing he’d ever come across. 

“I just thought it’d be interesting. You know, seeing if the other countries have different ways of training than we do.” Harry glanced around again. Oddly enough, there was nobody else anywhere in sight at that moment. “But the only person aside from us that I’ve seen so far is a guy with very long hair that was very snooty. Hopefully, not _everyone_ will be like that… Severus?” he asked, realising that Severus had come to a dead stop in the middle of the path. 

“This man,” said Severus, hoarsely. “Describe him.” 

Harry frowned in thought. “Uh, taller than me, long blond hair that was almost white, grey eyes, very stiff, um…” He racked his brain for anything else. “Oh! He was carrying a cane, a long black one. Almost didn’t notice it.” 

The colour, what little he had, drained out of Severus’ face so fast that Harry hastily thrust his hands out, worried that the other man was about to collapse at his feet. Severus’ eyes, in contrast, were so intense they almost burned. 

“Severus?” Harry queried. “Are you okay? What’s wrong?” 

But Severus merely brushed his hands away and stumbled down the path, locating their cabin more by luck than anything else. He staggered in and slammed the door behind himself, leaving Harry standing alone in the middle of the road, staring after him in confusion.

* * *

Severus found himself in a room that he supposed was his with no idea of how he’d got there. He sank onto the bed, arms wrapped tightly around his torso. _Malfoy!_ Harry had encountered Lucius Malfoy. He had… not precisely _forgotten_ that Malfoy and Riddle would likely be here at these Olympics, but had rather carefully not thought about the matter. 

Which had been idiotic, because here he was now, falling to pieces. 

He had still been quite young, and very definitely new to the eventing circuit, when he’d first met Lucius Malfoy and Tom Riddle, stars of the French equestrian scene. Severus had been having difficulties with other riders at his own yard, young men that he’d gone to school with and had been hopelessly bullied by, and matters had not been improved by one of the men – who happened to be Harry Potter’s father – taking a fancy to the mare that Severus was riding at the time and deciding he wanted her for his own. 

In contrast, Malfoy and Riddle had seemed to take Severus under their wings, apparently delighted to see him and never appearing to care that he spent so much time complaining about his opponents. 

He’d blossomed under the attention… until he discovered that they were hoping that his distressed emotional state would cause him to make mistakes during events, thus allowing them a better chance. 

He’d been heartbroken and humiliated, and things had not improved when, not very long after that, James Potter had managed to buy the mare Lily of the Valley – that Severus had trained up himself from a yearling – out from under him. 

Severus hadn’t had to confront either Malfoy or Riddle at the previous Olympics; the venue there had had enough space to have separate stabling areas for each team, and as Severus had unfortunately broken his arm just six weeks before the event, then he’d spent his time either in the stables instructing Potter – the junior one – how to convince DE to cooperate with him or in the public viewing stands. And it had been easy enough to busy himself elsewhere when the French team were competing. 

He was, perhaps, being too sensitive about it, but Severus couldn’t seem to shake off the terrible feelings of hurt and horror that swamped him whenever he even heard the name ‘Malfoy’ or ‘Riddle’. _It had been over a decade_ , he growled at himself, _and here he was, still reminiscing over it like a prepubescent boy pining over a girl!_ He was in his mid-thirties, for God’s sake. It was time he got over it!

* * *

Harry gingerly knocked on Severus’ door the next morning, wondering if the other man had recovered from whatever had upset him yesterday. He had apparently subconsciously decided the answer was ‘no’, because he jumped when Severus’ door swung open almost immediately after his knock. 

“Um, ah…” he stuttered, taken aback and feeling suddenly unprepared. “Breakfast,” he managed to squeak out, when Severus began to scowl. He pointed vaguely over his shoulder. 

“I presume you mean that breakfast is ready?” Severus raised an eyebrow at him. Harry nodded, dumbly. Severus turned momentarily out of sight and then returned, stepping right into Harry’s space and looking down at him. Harry felt his heart skip a beat or two as he stared up at Severus in return. They’d been getting along over the last four years, carefully and precisely building an odd kind of relationship where Harry considered Severus a friend, and Severus willingly tolerated his presence. The other man had never shown much inclination for relationships of _any_ kind before, but here he was, pressed up close against Harry and staring at him. Was it just Harry’s imagination, or was Severus’ gaze fixed on his mouth…? 

“Are you going to let me past so that we can actually _attend_ breakfast, or are you planning to keep me in my room all day?” Severus asked, acerbically. 

Oh. It _was_ just Harry’s imagination… 

“Sorry,” he muttered, ducking his head and stepping back. He could feel the blood rushing into his face, and knew he was blushing fiercely. He trailed behind Severus towards the combined living and dining area and felt a bit like a lost puppy. From the look Ron gave him, he obviously _looked_ a bit like a lost puppy, too. 

Mrs McGonagall was shuffling papers together. “Today should be a rather gentle day,” she said as Harry slid into a chair between Ron and Neville. “Do you agree, Filius?” 

The diminutive team trainer nodded and hastily swallowed the mouthful of tea he’d just taken. “Oh, yes,” he agreed. “Nothing too taxing today, folks, just a gentle ride around the entire stadium to get the horses used to the new noises and smells. Maybe a jump or two if they’ve got practice ones set up and your horse needs to let off a bit of steam – or if you want to set your own up for the same reason; they’ve got some spare poles in one of the storage rooms, I believe. Give everyone a chance to settle in, then I’ll hand out proper training schedules tomorrow.” 

As he was handed a platter of sausages, Harry wondered if he was included in that. Technically, he wasn’t part of the team so theoretically it was up to him to decide how and when he rode Firebolt, but Filius might lump in him anyway out of habit. 

“The officials have set up a proper training arena,” Mrs McGonagall was saying when he tuned back in. “Teams will have allotted times to be in it; I’ll collect the schedule for us at some point this afternoon.” 

Once everyone had finished eating, they wandered to the stables as a group. Or rather, Severus wandered down on his own and everyone else trailed after him like a group of ducklings. _Getting to be a bad habit!_ Harry couldn’t help thinking. 

Most of their horses were eagerly looking out for them. Severus’ Blackie – or Potions Master, to give him his proper name; Harry had not yet managed to find out just how you shortened that into ‘Blackie’ – was prevented by the mesh covering, and DE was not the most sociable of animals. 

Firebolt whinnied when he spotted Harry, and Harry wondered if the gelding would always be this excited to see him or if the novelty would eventually wear off. He couldn’t see any sign of the horse that Firebolt had been making friends with yesterday. 

“Back up,” he suggested to Firebolt, shoving at the gelding’s shoulder. The bay snorted and plunged back towards the rear of his box. Harry paused to consider this. It appeared that Firebolt was feeling playful this morning, which meant that grooming him was likely to take much longer as the horse played keep-away with the brushes. 

Instead of immediately entering the box, Harry reached for the nearby lead rope, intending to bring Firebolt out and tie him up in the yard to brush him. Of course, now Firebolt was playing keep-away with _himself_ , and refusing to come close enough so that Harry could clip the rope to his headcollar. He stamped a front hoof and gave an excited nicker when Harry finally decided to enter the stable after all, and Harry hastily shut the door behind himself, just in case Firebolt decided to make a bid for freedom. 

It took a shameful half an hour before Harry _finally_ managed to reach Firebolt’s head. The gelding had been much more interested in playing, ducking away out of Harry’s reach and circling the box as much as he was able, making Harry dodge out of the way of his hindquarters just in case he let fly with an enthusiastic kick. 

“You’re a menace,” he informed the horse once he finally had him secured. “It’s a good thing I’m not on the team if you plan to do _that_ every time.” 

“I told you, he needs more training,” came Severus’ amused voice from the doorway. 

“How long have you been there?” Harry wondered, squinting at him suspiciously over Firebolt’s neck as the horse nudged at his pockets in search of treats. 

Severus snorted, and Firebolt’s head came up to look at him, ears pricked. “Long enough,” he said. 

It certainly had been long enough, Harry realised when he went to open the stall door, as Severus was holding the reins to a fully tacked up Death Eater. The black was eyeing the nearby stables, his ears flicking around. His attention immediately snapped to Firebolt as Harry led his horse out, and DE’s ears went back. 

Firebolt stretched his nose in the stallion’s direction, snorting in a friendly manner, but DE apparently did not return the sentiment. Instead, his lips wrinkled back from his teeth in a clear warning that Harry took heed of, even if Firebolt didn’t. He hurriedly led Firebolt away from DE and tied his rope to a nearby ring secured in the wall. Firebolt idly mouthed at the knot but Harry had expected that so tugging at the knot wouldn’t let it slip free. 

“Are you early, or is everyone just waiting for me?” asked Harry, glancing around the yard. From the sounds of it, Crookshanks was still in her box, but there was no sign of any of the others. 

Severus glanced around himself, frowning. “ _I_ thought I was right on time,” he said, disgruntled. “Nobody ever practises punctuality anymore!” 

Harry decided it was probably best not to comment on that. Instead he made quick work of brushing and saddling Firebolt, and in the end the group only had to wait a couple of minutes for him. Once mounted, they all clattered out of the stable yard in a somewhat straight line. 

The other horses were veterans of various events, and so were used to noisy crowds. The most they did was give the occasional ear flick or stretch their nose out to sniff at something interesting. 

Firebolt, however, had never seen this many people all crammed in together before, and once they were out of the relative shelter of the stabling area, his head went up and his eyes practically came out on stalks. Harry was quite surprised his ears didn’t fall off, they were swivelling around so much, and he tightened his core muscles and sat deep in the saddle, fully expecting an imminent explosion. 

Severus drew DE up so that they fell in beside Harry and Firebolt. The older man gave Firebolt a critical onceover. “Is there a reason you decided not to just lead him out for this first time?” he asked. 

Harry shrugged. “Got to ride him out sometime,” he said. “I discussed it with Filius last night. Theoretically, this gives me more control over him if he freaks out over something and decides to bolt.” He felt the horse under him flinch as loud, raucous laughter burst out somewhere just behind them, and reached forward to pat his neck in reassurance. 

“Unless, of course,” Severus pointed out, “he manages to throw you off.” 

“Thanks for the vote of confidence,” Harry grumbled. He gently nudged Firebolt’s side, angling the gelding towards a handful of trees that were standing a little way back from the crowds. A good place to pause, he thought, and give the horse a chance to think things over. Firebolt pranced the last few steps, and Harry directed him around the back of the trees before drawing him to a halt. 

Severus and DE pulled up nearby, and DE dropped his head as soon as Severus relaxed the reins, idly snuffling and snatching at the odd mouthful of grass. Harry didn’t dare relax that much, but he allowed the reins to slip through his fingers a bit, giving Firebolt a little more leeway to stretch his neck out. 

“So,” Harry began, awkwardly. “You, er, kind of ran off last night. Was everything okay?” 

“I… apologise, for that,” said Severus. He frowned, but Harry rather thought it was directed at himself. “I will not let it happen again.” 

“No, that wasn’t what I—” Harry sighed. “You can talk to me, if you ever need to,” he said instead. 

Severus opened his mouth, presumably to dispute that he’d ever need to talk to _anyone_ , but a horse being led past caught his attention first. Harry frowned at the person as they drew near to the spot where Harry and Severus were. Cho Chang was the reserve for their team and had been, last they’d seen, riding with the main group. 

“Cho?” Harry asked. “Is something wrong?” 

Cho glanced up at him. “Seeker’s thrown a shoe,” she informed them. “Hopefully the farrier will be able to fit a new one today.” 

“I would be more concerned, Miss Chang, about the fact that your horse is limping,” Severus said, dryly. 

Harry glanced down at Seeker’s legs. Now that they’d come to a halt, the dun gelding was very clearly standing so as to take the weight off his right foreleg. He didn’t seem overly distressed – or as distressed as horses ever showed – so it was probably just the fact that the soft sole of his hoof was bruised from walking without a shoe. 

“The shoe came off rather awkwardly and scared him, so he shied, and came down on a stone,” Cho explained, patting his neck. “Filius thinks he might need to take it easy for a day or two, but no lasting damage, especially once he’s been reshod. Come on, Seeker.” She gave a tug on the reins, and Seeker obediently stepped out with her as she moved off. 

“Not an auspicious start for her,” Severus commented, and gathered up his reins again. DE made a token resistance, pretending that the mouthful of grass he’d been aiming for was the most succulent bit ever tasted and he desperately had to have it, but finally brought his head up again with a gusty sigh. “Although if she didn’t notice a shoe coming loose then perhaps she should have stayed behind.” 

Harry shook his head as he jiggled his own reins to bring Firebolt’s attention back to him. That wasn’t really fair to Cho. It was entirely possible to not know a horse was going to lose a shoe until it actually _lost_ it. He’d had it happen before with Golden Snidget. They’d been out over the cross-country course, and Harry hadn’t realised anything was amiss until he got back and went to pick out Snitch’s hoof, at which point he discovered the shoe was missing. 

“At least it’s an easy fix,” he said, cheerfully, and nudged Firebolt to start walking again. “Come on, let’s see if we can catch up to the others.” 

Severus sighed as heavily as DE. “If you insist…”

* * *

Entering the stable courtyard several hours later, they saw a crowd of people crowded around one of the stables at the end of the row. Severus didn’t seem to care, but immediately turned DE into the archway leading to their own row. Harry craned his neck but couldn’t tell what was happening before Firebolt turned under the arch as well. 

Cho was just exiting Seeker’s box as they pulled up and slid off their mounts. She sauntered over to Harry as he ran the stirrups up and loosened the girth. “Did you see all the people down there?” she asked. “They had to call the vet. One of the French team’s horses got colic.” 

“Really?” Harry winced. That would put that horse out of commission for a few days if they managed to save it. 

“Do they know if it was caused by a poisonous plant?” Severus asked. He kept his face hidden, pretending to fiddle with DE’s girth, but his shoulders had tensed up. Likely because it was a French horse, Harry thought. He knew there’d been some unpleasantness between Severus and the French team a long time ago – or some of the team, at least – but he didn’t know the specifics. Unsurprisingly, Severus didn’t like speaking about it. When asked, he tended to get the same expression he had whenever someone tried to speak about James Potter with him. 

Cho gave Severus an odd look; she didn’t get on with the man, as most people didn’t, and no doubt she thought his question strange. Harry thought it was relevant, though – if there were poisonous plants about, then _everyone_ would need to take care. “No,” she finally replied. “The horse was rather riled up when it arrived this morning. It belongs to one of the younger team members, and they gave it a bucket of water to cool it off. Except the water tank hadn’t had a chance to warm up yet, so it was ice cold.” 

Harry winced. It was never a good idea giving cold water to a horse, especially one that was running hot from exercise or overexcitement. It was a terrible shock to their system and caused severe abdominal cramps. If they then tried to roll on the ground to escape the pain, there was a risk that their intestines would flip over, causing further pain and even greater harm. 

“Poor thing,” he murmured. “Hope they manage to sort things out for it.” 

Severus’ expression looked even more sour. “Idiot shouldn’t have been given his own horse in the first place,” he grumbled, pulling DE’s saddle off in such a way that the loose girth slid over DE’s back and folded itself neatly over on top of the saddle. DE’s back twitched as the cool air brushed over it. 

Harry and Cho remained silent but exchanged glances as Severus stalked off towards DE’s box, the stallion sauntering behind him. 

“I, er—” Cho vaguely gestured over her shoulder at Seeker’s box, and Harry nodded. 

_Well_ , he thought, as he led Firebolt towards his own stall, _it’s not looking like an auspicious beginning for the equestrians at all!_

* * *

The following morning found the British team out in the pastures with several members of various other teams. The training arena was booked out for the Brazilian team, so the rest were making do where they could in the meantime. The British team – Ron, Hermione, Severus and Neville as the main team, with Cho as the reserve – were all gathered around Filius, who was discussing some point of training with them. Harry, being on his own time and schedule, was warming Firebolt up by trotting him along the far hedgerow that marked this particular pasture off. 

The gelding felt stiff and uncomfortable, and was not at all eager to go forwards. It seemed that the novelty of a new place had worn off already. At least, Harry _hoped_ that was all it was. Firebolt becoming ill wouldn’t upset the team in any way, but it would definitely put a dampener on _his_ time here. 

At least the vet provided by the venue had confirmed that the French team’s horse had not colicked due to a poisonous plant. The horse was on strict stable rest for the next few days, and was apparently feeling rather sorry for itself, but was safely on the mend although there was some debate about whether the horse would go on and compete. 

But… the French horse wasn’t Harry’s problem right now; Firebolt was. He considered whether pushing the gelding into a gallop was a good idea or not, as Firebolt snatched irritably at his bit and shook his head. He didn’t _think_ Firebolt was likely to run off with him, not in this mood, but he _might_ attempt to buck Harry off. 

He was just clamping his legs around Firebolt in preparation of strongly kicking for a gallop when the rest of the team broke from their huddle, and Firebolt immediately perked up, his ears swivelling in interest to where Pigwidgeon was on approach to intersect him. 

Harry rolled his eyes as he pulled Firebolt to a halt. “Need an audience, huh?” he asked. 

Ron gave him a concerned look as he got close enough that he didn’t need to shout. “Is Bolt injured?” he asked. “Only, he didn’t look as if he was going very well for you.” 

“Seems he just didn’t like exercising alone,” replied Harry. “He might go better now he knows others are nearby. What are you and Pig supposed to be doing?” 

“Practicing our freestyle.” Ron patted his mount’s grey neck. “Pig hasn’t quite got the hang of coming out of the flying changes. Won’t help us if he ends up face-planting in the arena!” 

Harry spluttered out a laugh at the mental image. “He managed them last time, though, didn’t he?” 

“Yeah, but he’s slept since then,” said Ron, wryly. “Forgotten every bit of dressage he ever knew. So—” He shrugged. “—working on making him remember it all again. Will you watch and tell me how it looks from the outside?” 

“Sure,” Harry agreed, and loosened his reins a touch, allowing Firebolt to relax his neck whilst they were stationary. Ron trotted Pigwidgeon down towards the far end of the field, before turning to canter back up towards Harry. 

It was always interesting to see the top-level movements such as flying changes done by someone else. Pig certainly seemed to be managing with them perfectly well, each foreleg coming out in the lead for two beats before swapping to the other leg for two beats and then back again. Harry knew how hard the rider had to work to make the ‘skipping’ of the horse look effortless, but, if done properly, it looked magical. 

And then, just before they reached Harry and Firebolt, Ron gave Pig the signal to drop back to a normal stride. But instead of a smooth transition into an ordinary canter, Pig did a weird little jerk, as though he’d been going to add in another flying change before realising he shouldn’t. 

Harry frowned. That would definitely be penalised. 

“See?” Ron said, drawing Pig to a halt. “He’s been doing it for ages; almost dumped me off the first time ‘cos I wasn’t expecting it.” 

“Maybe that’s the problem,” Harry suggested. “You _are_ expecting it now, so you tense up and then he messes up. What about another cue just beforehand to get his attention?” 

“Can always try,” said Ron, philosophically. “Thanks, mate.” 

As Ron turned Pig to go back down the field and try again, Harry turned Firebolt towards the jumping area that had been set up. He wasn’t actually going to _try_ the gelding over the jumps – he’d barely begun jumping at all, never mind something that height – but hoped maybe the sight and sound of the other horses might persuade Firebolt to perk up a bit. 

Severus was circling DE at a slow canter, so Harry aimed towards him. DE apparently didn’t find the activity engaging enough, as he still managed to aim a glare at Firebolt as the pair drew near. Firebolt’s head went up, and he gave an astonished snort. Harry patted his neck in commiseration. 

“What have you done now?” Severus asked, as he manoeuvred DE to circle Harry and Firebolt. 

“I haven’t done anything!” Harry protested. “What on earth makes you think I have?” 

“Because you aren’t still over in the far corner doing whatever exercise you had planned,” Severus pointed out. 

Harry rolled his eyes. “Firebolt’s just in a strop, that’s all. He was expecting a nice relaxing holiday, and here I am making him work.” 

“And we can’t have that now, can we?” remarked Severus, dryly, but before Harry could respond he was turning DE towards the jumps that Flitwick had put up, nudging the stallion into a quicker canter. 

The jumps were all just under a meter and a half tall, which was on the lower side of the height scale, and laid out in a figure eight pattern. DE jumped very neatly as he went over each of them. Severus was sitting still, barely giving him any direction at all. No doubt he didn’t want to risk having one of his infamous disagreements with DE over how to go over a jump before the competition even started. That was how he’d broken his arm before the last one. 

Harry, having had his own ride scuppered by injury, had been paired with DE instead, and had spent the entire cross-country course hardly daring to give the headstrong black any interaction whatsoever. It had only been a short while since DE allowed himself to be ridden by Harry at all, and he didn’t want to risk having the same kind of accident as Severus or, even worse, one like his father had died in. Unsurprisingly, they had barely managed to scrape themselves into the top 20, but it had still been much better than Harry could have expected on a horse he’d never ridden – or even approached – before. 

Firebolt unexpectedly bobbed his head, jerking Harry back to the moment. He loosened his reins a touch, allowing Firebolt to stretch his neck round to bite at an itch on his side. When the gelding nibbled on Harry’s boot instead, Harry realised the youngster was probably getting bored and nudged him on into a walk. 

“I say, Harry, we have some poles left over, if you want to try him over some cavalletti,” Flitwick called out. 

“Sure, that’d be great,” Harry called back, and kicked Firebolt back into a trot whilst the trainer began setting up the small jumps. He just hoped that the gelding realised he was supposed to go _over_ them and not _through_ them.

* * *

A week later found Harry standing outside the main dressage arena, bouncing on the balls of his feet and cheering his head off as DE came to a halt in the middle of the arena and Severus gave a short, sharp nod to the judges at the end. Then he walked DE out of the arena to the accompaniment of fairly enthusiastic applause from the audience. 

Harry took a gamble with his fingers and risked taking hold of the reins near DE’s bit as he and Severus entered the competitor’s area again. The stallion rolled an eye at him but was apparently still caught up in the pleasure of a well-executed freestyle dressage test and did nothing more than shake his head slightly. 

Severus let the reins out and patted DE’s glistening neck. “That went well,” he said, and most other people wouldn’t have heard the smug pride in his tone, but Harry did. 

“That was _brilliant_!” he enthused, swapping his hands on the reins so he could clap DE’s neck as well. “Didn’t see what the final score was, but you might be right up there after that!” 

“We shall see,” said Severus. “There are still quite a few more people to go yet, and we had a very shaky transition from the collected canter into the passage. That will have cost us points.” 

“Didn’t look shaky to me,” objected Harry. From where he’d been standing, the switch from the slow, controlled canter into the glacially slow high-motioned trot had been seamless. 

Severus snorted. “You aren’t one of the judges,” he pointed out. “They had a better view than you did.” He slid his feet from the stirrups and slid his leg over DE’s back to dismount whilst they were still moving, taking the reins from Harry without missing a beat. An area had been set aside for the horses to be washed down, and Severus steered them to a relatively clear spot. He didn’t bother tying DE up, but instead kept a steadying hand on the reins whilst using the other one to unbuckle the girth and pull the saddle off. 

Harry picked up the nearest full bucket of water and swapped Severus a sponge for his saddle, holding the bucket for the other man to dip the sponge into. DE’s skin shivered as the tepid water washed over him, washing away the sweat marks. 

“You did much better than the French team, anyway,” Harry informed him. 

Severus’ shoulders tensed. “Oh?” he asked, sharply. 

“Yeah, obviously Draco Malfoy, the one whose horse colicked, decided not to compete. Lucius Malfoy—” Who had turned out to be the man Harry had encountered in the tack room their first night there. “—did well enough, but his horse is old, and it showed. It had trouble with some of the precision on the more advanced stuff, and it was breathing like bellows by the time they’d finished; everyone in the arena could hear it. Surprised _you_ didn’t, to be honest.” 

“You know I was paying more attention to preparing for my own routine,” snapped Severus, and DE stamped a back hoof as if in agreement. 

“I know,” Harry soothed them both. “I was just saying. Anyway, the girl, Fleur Delacour? Her mare’s in season; spent the entire time absolutely _screaming_ back at the other horses who might possibly be interested. She got a _lot_ of points docked for that.” 

“And the fourth?” Severus asked, in the kind of casual manner that meant he was actually extremely interested in the answer. 

“Gabrielle, Fleur’s sister. She wasn’t actually too bad, but both she and her horse are still fairly young, so they just didn’t have the experience necessary to draw top marks.” 

Severus dropped the sponge, and almost dropped DE’s reins, too. “ _Gabrielle_?” he repeated, turning sharply on Harry with an odd intensity. “The fourth French rider was another woman? I thought Riddle—” He broke off and turned back to DE. 

Harry blinked at him. “Riddle?” he repeated. “Didn’t you hear? Tom Riddle had to stop competing a couple of years ago. He took a bad fall whilst training at home and broke his pelvis. Due to how long it took anyone to find him, it didn’t set right, and he can’t ride at all now.” 

Severus made an odd noise, and Harry took a step forward, worried that the other man was choking, although he had no idea what he could be choking _on_. But instead, Severus turned to look at him again, and his eyes, although wet, were blazing with what looked an awful lot like _triumph_. 

“He can’t compete anymore,” Severus whispered, more to himself than to Harry. He gave a sudden bark of laughter, causing both Harry and DE to jump in surprise. DE pinned back the ear closest to them and took a half-hearted snap at Severus in admonishment. “Riddle can’t compete anymore!” Severus repeated, louder. “And Malfoy is too old! Oh, how the mighty have fallen!” He began laughing again, with more than a tinge of hysteria, and had to lean against DE’s shoulder to stop himself collapsing to the ground in a heap. 

DE gave an annoyed snort as Harry gave Severus a puzzled look. He had no idea what on earth was going on, but apparently it was good news? “Um, look, why don’t you give me that—” He put the bucket on the ground and managed to tug the sponge from Severus’ hand. “—and we’ll take DE on a nice, calm walk back to the stable so neither of us gets bitten. Okay?” 

“Oh, Harry,” said Severus, gleefully. “Things are _more_ than just _okay_!” He abruptly surged towards Harry, placed his hands on Harry’s face and enthusiastically kissed him, there for the entire competitor’s area to see. 

DE, head pulled sharply round by his reins still being in Severus’ hand, laid both ears back, bared his teeth at the annoying human and _bit_.

**Author's Note:**

> https://keyassets.timeincuk.net/inspirewp/live/wp-content/uploads/sites/14/2020/01/CP9_5839_321274702_515488241.jpg - image of a horse doing piaffe, which is the very controlled trot-in-place. Passage is basically that, but very slowly moving forwards. The horse shown is also basically what the colour dun is. 
> 
> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=AntstYzHWRk – video showcasing flying changes, starting at 6:40. 
> 
> Cavalletti (or cavaletti) are small jumps used for training. 
> 
> A blood-bay horse is a normal bay (brown body, black mane, tail and lower legs) but with a much brighter, or redder, colour.
> 
> Please leave a comment here or at [LiveJournal](https://snape-potter.livejournal.com/3931726.html), [Insanejournal](http://asylums.insanejournal.com/snape_potter/1856837.html), or [Dreamwidth](https://snape-potter.dreamwidth.org/1193031.html).


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